


These Bonds

by cissyalice



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Denial of Feelings, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Homelessness, I like to have a healthy balance, Past Child Abuse, Unplanned Pregnancy, because feelings are problematic, completely over it octavia, oblivious nerd lexa, smitten af clarke, smug raven
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-03 00:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6589684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cissyalice/pseuds/cissyalice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'It is only with Clarke, in rare moments of truth, that she finds she can breathe again. Her lungs expand with ease, the organ relaxing for the first time in . . .</p><p>Lexa shudders.</p><p>It is the farthest thing from what she wants, and paves the path to all she fears.</p><p>She cannot NEED Clarke.</p><p>And yet she does.</p><p>And she is waiting for the day when this need turns on her, rears back and sinks its teeth into the scarring tissue of her heart. She is waiting to lose Clarke too.'</p><p>OR</p><p>It’s Clarke’s senior year and she’s been ‘persuaded’ by her mum into volunteering at Arcadia, a boarding house for homeless teens and young adults. </p><p>Alexandria Woods is a resident at Arcadia who is determined to keep her distance from all. Enter Clarke, a girl who may be even more stubborn than her. All of a sudden, keeping her distance proves to be more difficult than anticipated.</p><p>And then there’s Raven, who just thinks the whole thing’s hilarious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bonds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [awkwardrainbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardrainbow/gifts).



> Dedicated to my wives: @Lexualityy @AwkwardRainbow_ @IStan2Dorks they are amazing go worship them - except for @AwkwardRainbow_ she's . . . um, you're better off just staying clear of that one
> 
> So this is like my fun fic. I’m just gonna write it and try not to stress. Determined not to overthink things in terms of grammar, technique, words sounding right, posting on time. This is my fun destressor fic. Therefore it will not be my best work.  
> For that I apologise.  
> I’ve also never lived in a group home or known anyone who has or runs one. While I’ve tried to do some research, I can tell you right now this will probably not be accurate, especially when it comes to the legal side of things.  
> Anyhoo, I hope u enjoy!

_(_ ** _Bond, n:_**  

 

 _1.something that binds, fastens, or holds together, such as a chain or rope_  

 _2.something that brings or holds people together; tie: a bond of friendship_  

 _3.something that restrains or imprisons; captivity or imprisonment)_  

 

… 

 

So, Clarke hates her mum. 

 

Hates her. 

 

Well, OK, that’s not exactly true but right now it sure rings so for Clarke.  

 

What _had_ she been thinking when she suggested this? _This_ being work part time for free at Jaha’s for the school year until exams hit. Clarke doesn’t do work. She’s just not built for it - her body’s more inclined towards the sleeping and partying aspects of life. She most certainly doesn’t do _free_ work. 

 

And yet here she is. 

 

Here being Arcadia, a transitional home for teens and young adults. Thelonious Jaha and Marcus Kane, two men Clarke has known since birth, run the place and, she has to admit, they do an OK job - no-one has died yet, at least.  

 

She remembers it being much smaller back when she was a kid, harassing the residents to play with her, a hesitant Wells always at her side. Whether they had wanted to or not, Clarke always got her way, and she has hours of memories of playing dress up with uncomfortable teens, attacking horrified faces with markers . . .  

 

Back then, it was smaller, only three or four teens living in at a time. These days they usually average on about ten.  

 

Way too many hormones to cohabit a single house at onnce. She’s not sure how Kane and Jaha handle it, to be honest.  

 

She’s not eager to find out either.    

 

‘Oh, but Clarke, the volunteering will look so good on your college applications!’ 

 

 _Pfft._  

 

Maybe.  

 

Except this isn’t so much volunteering as being coerced into forced labor, also blackmailed (her mum may have implied that she would send her off to live with her crazy aunt Diana for the summer holidays, if she resisted). An empty threat, probably - since it entails that her mum would actually have to have a conversation with Diana and she fears that bat almost as much as clarke - but still. She’s not about to risk it. Her mum’s been weird lately, not exactly a model for predictability.  

 

But then so has Clarke. 

 

Which brings them round to the other reason (the _main_ one Clarke suspects) for Abby’s interference in her life. For some reason, she thinks volunteering at Arcadia will give her the perfect opportunity to socialize and make new friends (’Wouldn’t that be lovely? What with Wells away, and you drifting apart from that group you used to hang out with all the time . . . This might be _just_ the thing you need, sweetie’).  

 

Clarke’s not convinced. 

 

Both that her plan is ‘ _just_ the thing’ she needs or that her behavior of late is anything to be concerned about. That group she drifted apart from? Total self-absorbed assholes, something she soon realized when shit hit the fan and they were nowhere to be seen. And Wells being away? Not a permanent thing. He may be living out the year in England with his mum, and she may miss him (a lot), but it’s not like he’s no longer her friend. They still have facebook, snapchat and skype. Which, really, is a fully fledged healthy relationship in this day and age. 

 

So she’s not the social butterfly she used to be. She still gets around. There’s a party almost every week with her name on it - though drinking herself silly and spending the rest of the day in bed with the mother of all hangovers probably _isn_ _’t_ her mother’s preferred method of ‘making friends’.  

 

At any rate, manipulating her into servitude was an overreaction. And one that’s likely to be the farthest thing from helpful. Especially since she’s worked so hard to avoid Arcadia this past year. It’s not that she has anything against the place. The whole setup is great - providing a home for those in need isn’t exactly something you can go wrong with - and, hell, she used to love hanging out here with Wells. 

 

It’s just . . . 

 

As of late, she’d rather be anywhere else.    

 

And her mum _knows_ that. 

 

She sighs, moving into Arcadia’s only kitchen.  

 

It’s been a long day. She came straight here after school and between manning the phone for almost an hour and losing a fight with Charlotte - Arcadia’s youngest and, arguably, most troublesome resident - trying to get the girl to do her homework, she’s exhausted. All Clarke’s ready to do now is collapse on her bed and catch up with what’s been happening on _The Walking Dead_. Of course, that would mean making it to her car and driving all the way back to her house, which, at the present moment, seems like too much to ask of her failing body. So she’ll just have to camp out in the loungeroom here and hope there’s something on TV that’s not a total snoozefest - the house still hasn’t caught up to netflix yet. Jaha and Kane won’t mind, she used to do it all the time with Wells.  

 

But first, a little reward for all her hard work. 

 

She’s rifling through the various cupboards,shaking her head at the utter lack of anything sweet or chocolaty (Jaha’s doing, no doubt), when a noise interrupts her search. It’s the sound of a throat clearing, low and hesitant but impossible to ignore, followed by a polite, “Excuse me.”  

 

Clarke swings around in surprise, hand to her chest. 

 

It’s a girl. 

 

Well, no shocker there. Given the many inhabitants of the house, it was bound to be that or a boy and, well, the voice didn’t sound all that masculine. Not that you can always tell. She certainly isn’t about to judge anyone’s gender based on that alone but, well, this is most _definitely_ a girl. 

 

Most definitely . . . 

 

Clarke pulls her head up from the intruder’s lithe, muscular legs which are peeking out beneath a plaid blue skirt - and, ok, she kind of always had a thing for the school girl look and, oh, is that a tie? Her cheeks redden slightly and she forces herself to focus on the girl’s face.   

 

Which isn’t all that much of a reprieve. 

 

Fuck, those eyes . . . 

 

Is that blue or green?  

  

 

She remembers learning in biology how like, only two percent of the population have green eyes, so maybe it is blue. No, it’s green, she can see the flecks of gold when the light catches her irises, washing away the blue sheen.  

 

Stunning.   

 

God, if she had her paints with her she could . . . 

 

 _OK, bad Clarke_. This is nothing more than evidence that she needs to get laid more often. Clearly, her once weeklies were no longer cutting it.   

 

The girl’s voice breaks into her thoughts. “Bottom right cupboard. At the back, behind the lentils and chickpeas.” 

 

What? 

 

“What?” 

 

To be fair, the girl doesn’t look any more comfortable with the conversation than Clarke, though she hides it better. Pursing her lips, she inclines her head towards said bottom right cupboard. 

 

Oh. 

 

OK, so, this could easily be a trap. Despite only having been here two days, Clarke’s already learnt that the teens living here have a penchant for practical jokes - and she’s wound up on the receiving end of more than a few of them, much to her dismay. Octavia is the worse, though Jasper and Raven seem to be competing against her for the honor, and Murphy is . . . someone Clarke hopes to avoid for the foreseeable forever.  

 

The point: the girl may play at being helpful but odds are there’s a stink bomb in that cupboard. 

 

Still . . . 

 

She’s just hungry enough to risk it.  

 

Eying her with suspicion, Clarke makes a move towards the potentially dangerous object, opening with caution. Nothing happens and her shoulders sag a little. Remembering the rest of the girl’s instructions, she inches a hand towards the back, shifting aside a packet of brown rice. Her eyebrows jump up in surprise when her hand locks on the yummy answer to all her prayers. “Huh.” 

 

Oreos. Thin mint.  

 

Her favorite.  

 

Not a trap then. 

 

Or, if it is, it’s the most delicious one Clarke’s ever been lured into. 

 

She glances back at the girl for an explanation.  

 

The brunette seems to shrug, though it’s the most elegant shrug Clarke’s ever seen. “Miss Blake has taken to hiding them, so as to conserve for her own pleasure. Though her past hiding spots were soon found, she's becoming increasingly creative. This is perhaps her best. Mr Jaha is the only regular occupant who eats lentils or chickpeas, and as of three weeks ago, he's on a low carb diet.” 

 

“Oh.” Clarke blinks, nonplussed, and looks down at the packet in her hands for a moment. This girl sure likes to use a lot of words, but she reckons she got the gist of it - Octavia doesn’t want anyone eating her precious oreos. Understandable. They are pretty fucking delish. “How'd you know it was there?” 

 

“I'm observant.” She hesitates. “I also find myself . . . craving them as of late. I thought it necessary to arm myself with the knowledge of its whereabouts at all times.” 

    

“OK.” Slightly odd, but OK. It's not like Clarke can’t empathize with a hankering for thin mints. “Uh, thanks.” _Wow, Clarke, aren_ _’t you smooth?_ So the girl’s ridiculously hot? And a little strange? No reason to lose all intelligent vocabulary.   

 

She nods with the slightest incline of her head. “You're welcome, Clarke.” Her tongue clicks against the ‘k’ and, OK, that’s hot, wouldn’t mind hearing that again and- 

 

Wait. 

  

“How do you know my name?” Suspicion disappears into panicked embarrassment. “Oh crap, we haven't met before have we? I'm not that good with faces, or names, or well, any of it.” _Especially when I'm drunk_. Though this girl doesn't really seem the type to attend her usual party scene. 

 

She spares one quick look down at her sinful legs again.  

 

 _Unfortunately._  

 

The hot stranger halts that train of thought. Thank God. She should _not_ be this turned on by a confusing conversation and an offering of oreos. “Have no fear, Clarke, rest assured we have not met before today. Mr Kane and Mr Jaha informed us three days ago that we would be receiving a new volunteer in the house,” she explains before pausing to give Clarke her own once over (and, OK, she’s really regretting the sweat shirt and sweatpants look right about now but live and learn right?). “Their descriptions of you were accurate enough.” 

 

How the hell did she even do her hair today? _Did_ she do her hair today? Where’s a brush? 

 

Maybe if she pushes her hair behind her ear like this the knots will be slightly less- 

 

 _Pay attention, Clarke! The hot girl is waiting for you to speak_. 

 

“Oh.” She inwardly cringes at her poor attempt. She should really think of a new word, or at least tack on some extra ones. 

 

The girl doesn’t seem to notice, or is too polite to let on. Probably the latter. “But I'm being rude.” She offers Clarke her hand. “Alexandria Woods, pleasure to meet you.”  

 

Clarke stares at the hand, which she assumes is meant for shaking because well. Who even does that anymore? You know, except like businessmen and creepy smiley politicians. Which this girl is most certainly . . . _not._  

 

She takes the hand. Of course she does - it would be rude not to. But also, the hot girl’s - Alexandria’s - skin looks so soft and smooth, and the chance to touch it is way too tempting to pass up. “Uh yeah, Clarke.” Wtf _, clarke?_ She already knew that. _Idiot_. “Which, um, you already knew.” She smiles, ducking her head. Awkward. Biting her lip, she hastens to take hold of the girl- _Alexandria_ _’s_ hand.  The contact is brief but electric and the moment Alexandria pulls away, she misses the hot press of her palm against her skin, much to her dismay. Clarke wonders if it would be too awkward to attempt another hand shake this soon. “But, uh, pleasure to meet you too.” 

 

Alexandria’s lips tease at a smile - or a smirk, Clarke doesn’t know her well enough yet to tell if she has a devious side - but it’s gone in a flash. Hidden beneath the weight of indifference. Clarke blinks at the shift. _How the fuck do you do that?_ Could someone teach _her_ how to do that?  

 

Might help her in trying to prove to her mum that she’s fine (which she is) and get her off her back. 

 

She’ll have to ask if Alexandria is willing to give lessons. Later. After all this . . . awkwardness is over with.  

 

“I thank you in advance for the services you will be contributing to Arcadia. It is, of course, much appreciated,” Alexandria says and, honestly, Clarke’s trying to get a peek at the back of her head to make sure there isn’t a monkey on a typewriter behind there, rattling off a script - complete with spell check and all!  

 

 _Who talks like that?_  

 

She blinks, coming up empty. No monkey. “Uh, yeah, no worries. Happy to help.” It’s not like she’s about to inform her that she was all but forced at gun point by her mum to sign up. That might risk spoiling the angelic image of her Lexa is no doubt forming - first impressions are important, or so her mum reminds her.  

 

“The others may be,” Alexandria hesitates before continuing, that monkey of hers apparently failing at finding the right word for once, “ . . . less amicable to your presence to begin with. From what I've seen, outsiders appear to undergo a sort of screening procedure before being accepted into the community.” She frowns, a thought occurring to her. “In that course, pilfering her private stash would not be advisable.” 

 

Clarke glances down at the oreos, having almost forgotten about them. Yeah, she’s already gotten a taste of that ‘screening procedure’. It’s not just Octavia, Jasper and Raven who have been getting in on the fun. Some guy called Murphy pushed her into the pool when she was weeding it out yesterday. From the cackles she heard in the background, he seemed to have audience approval for the action. Thank god she didn’t have her phone on her at the time. “ _Riiight_ ,” she draws out, glancing back up at her hot, and increasingly helpful, stranger. “Think she'll notice?”  

  

Alexandria gives the question perhaps more consideration than its due, or at least more than Clarke would have. Life is short and all. “She has not yet taken to making records, so it is possible one or two could disappear undetected. Your chances increase significantly if you eat some before she returns from basketball practice at five-fifteen pm.” She nods at the end of her sentence,assuring herself of the fact. 

 

“Cool.” Clarke smiles. “Thanks.” 

 

Another nod, this one more subdued - no, dignified. “Of course.” Though she doesn’t smile back, Clarke can detect a hesitant warmth in her eyes, before she turns to leave. 

 

Ripping open the wrapper and stuffing three in her mouth, she watches her go. _Alexandra Woods, hmm_. Maybe this volunteering stuff won’t be so bad after all. The company promises to be interesting, at least.  

 

  

… 

 

Having sealed the door to her bedroom, Lexa takes out her phone, biting her lip as she scrolls through the minimal notifications. Most are reminders - for appointments, homework and the like -  and there are some emails from newsletters she subscribes to - a few articles from _medium_ look interesting and she makes note to read them later. There is also a text from Anya, inquiring about scheduling another Skype session - their last was canceled due to unforeseen complications.  

 

It is not urgent.  

 

Lexa checks the the door to her room, assuring herself that it is indeed closed - not locked, Arcadia does not allow locks on its doors for obvious reasons - and listens for the sound of footsteps down the hall. All is quiet bar the distant arguing of John Murphy and Bellamy Blake a floor below, and the drone of the television - the volume of which is at a level broaching inconsiderate, if not rude. 

 

She ignores these disturbances, satisfied for the present, though her palms still sweat around the casing of her phone. 

 

The clock on the wall signifies she is running behind schedule, so there is call to be extra wary. She chose this time because her roommate has a recurring appointment at the local car shop, working part-time as a mechanic. Her absence, therefore, ensures that she will not be disturbed, but one can never be too cautious.  

 

Especially when every tick  of the clock increases the probability of being discovered.  

 

It is her own fault. That run in with the house’s new volunteer, Clarke - Dr Griffin’s daughter, 18, here after school Wednesdays and Thursdays, as well as every second Saturday - set her back. It was an inconvenient distraction, wasteful. But she does not regret it. 

 

The conversation was pleasant, if awkward. The blonde seemed nice enough, amusing at times, and she even awoke a smile in Lexa for a second . . .  

 

The sensation was odd, strained, a muscle protesting from disuse . . . but the ache was soothing, and the memory brings with it a shadow of warmth. 

 

In exchange, she was forced to sacrifice her (subtle) allotment of cookies - the reason for seeking out the kitchen to begin with - but she considers the loss to be an acceptable one. True, she will have to wait some time before it can be considered safe to ‘commandeer’ a few oreos - Octavia will grow suspicious if any more go missing in such a short time frame - but perhaps that is for the best - the cookies are high in sugar and fat, not to mention hydrogenated oil, and then there was that study that found them to be nearly as addictive as cocaine - no wonder she cannot bring herself to stop craving them. Her parents would never have allowed them past the threshold of their home - though Anya always had a secret stash of all things deliciously unhealthy under the loose floorboard of her bedroom.  

 

Clarke is welcome to them.  

 

Clarke. It is an unusual name. She likes the way it sounds, the click of it against her tongue. Clarke. 

 

And when _Clarke_ was the one to smile . . .  

 

Lexa’s chest aches to think of it - burns in the most unpleasant way, then leaves her cold.  

 

She has a beautiful smile. Warm, full, bursting with a life Lexa cannot emulate.  

 

She frowns, shaking her head free of the blonde. Such thoughts are inconvenient, and even troubling. She refuses to entertain them. 

 

As is routine, Lexa makes her way over to the small but sizable window seat and settles down. Though the cushions are the color of infectious mold and the material scratchy, they offer an acceptable level of comfort. It is the view that draws her, anyhow. She likes to gaze out into the backyard and spy the birds creeping in the trees, tallying up each species and comparing it to the records in her memory. 

 

The mourning doves are her favorite. Their colors and plumage are far from significant but she has a fondness for the puff of their chests which swell upon song. Sometimes she cracks open the window to listen to their plaintive coo.    

 

She hesitates before bringing her legs up to tuck under her (’Feet off, Alexandria. You’re a young lady, not some uncivilized trash’). There is a comfort in the position, in the tight hug of her body. For a brief inhalation, she is secure. 

 

The phone in her hand chases that away. 

 

She has dawdled too long. Her roommate could be back soon and she will have nothing to show for her vigilance and planning, and she is uncertain how long it will be before she can secure this level of privacy again. 

 

Taking another breath, deeper this time, harsher, she navigates to her voicemail. Pressing the phone to her ear and shivering against the hot touch of metal, she weathers the trembling vibrations down to to her spine. 

 

And exhales.   

 

And if she flinches when the voice finally comes (too soon, always too soon) - 

 

Well. 

 

Only the birds are the there to witness it. 

 

 _“_ _So, what are we getting for dinner Friday night? It's your turn remember?_ _”_   

 

All thoughts of Clarke are erased.  

 

...

_"Let your handshake be a greater bond than any written contract.”_

_― Steve Maraboli, Unapologetically You: Reflections on Life and the Human Experience_

 


	2. A Most Extraordinary Influence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa avoids Clarke. Clarke does her best to not avoid Lexa.  
> It's more or less a success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really hate this chapter. Like really hate. That's why it took so long to come out. But I've resolved to just post it and stop going back over it because I want to move on. I hope it's not too much of a let down :(

_“From the moment I met you, your personality had the most extraordinary influence over me. I was dominated, soul brain and power.” ― Oscar Wilde_

 

She runs into Alexandria twice more in the week that follows, though neither time is as long or enjoyable as that first meeting. Clarke’s not sure how their conversations seem to have grown more awkward with each encounter, stilted, splintered with gaps, but they have. Always, she’ll catch sight of Alexandria and her breath will catch, just for a moment, and nervous anticipation will set her on a path towards the other girl. And always, Alexandria will leave her, frowning, confused, cold. She’s not sure why. 

 

The other girl seems almost as eager to be in her company as a mouse in a cat’s, and she’ll run away before Clarke can even attempt to assure that she is a _nice_ cat, a harmless cat - her claws are sheaved, she’s on a no mouse diet and, look, she’s even purring! 

 

It’s ridiculous. Not only the bizarre level of disappointment she feels at the sharp end of each conversation, but that there seems to be no _reason_ for the chilly distance. No matter how hard she thinks about it, how many times she replays each interaction over in her memory, she can’t see what she could have done to piss Alexandria off. If she is, in fact, pissed off. It’s hard to tell. Her expressions and emotions - those few that are discernible - seem to range from indifferent to slightly less indifferent to possibly even amused - the last of which she hasn’t seen since the kitchen incident. There’s no denying that she’s become cold towards Clarke, though. 

 

Sub zero temp even.  

 

Again, for no reason that she can see. Unless you count that one time she kind of stole her helping of oreos out from under her nose. Which, OK, might actually explain a lot. It wouldn’t be the first time delicious food has become between friends. 

 

Not that they’re friends.  

 

Nope.  

 

More like acquaintances. The kind that rarely speak. And one of them avoids the other. And one would actually really like to be friends if the opportunity ever arose because the other has pretty eyes that she could really make use of in her art projects, not to mention her voice sounds nice and she also kind of smells like mint which reminds her of oreos which yum and . . .  

 

 _Anyway._  

 

Not friends. Of the being friends, they are not. 

 

She’s not sure what to do about it. 

 

If she even _should_ do something about it. Clarke’s not the type to follow people around like a puppy until they deign to give her a bone. If people don’t want to be her friend well fuck them. Why would she waste her time on trying to fill her life with people who so obviously don’t want to be there? 

 

Alexandria is different, though. Much as it galls her to admit. She’s not sure why, but she is. 

 

Maybe because she was the first person to welcome her here, though more likely it has something to do with showing her where to find the only stash of oreos. Quality friend material right there.  

 

And the eyes. The eyes don’t hurt.   

 

But on the whole, it makes no sense.  

 

Especially when Clarke has no interest right now in making any friends, no matter how green their eyes are. 

 

That doesn’t seem to be working out so well for her, though. 

 

It’s her fourth day at Arcadia and so far she’s spent more time kicking back with its residents than doing actual work. Already, she’s taken part in several games of poker, one Doctor Who marathon and even a turn of beer pong (that last would turn Jaha’s hair grey if he knew). Along the way, she’s picked up a few people who might - _might -_ be considered friends, by the dictionary definition. If anyone asks, though, she’s just trying to win her money back from Raven in poker.   

 

To be fair, none of this is entirely her fault. As it turns out, Kane and Jaha run a pretty tight ship, one in which everyone pulls their weight - and most seem happy too, discounting Murphy to which anything other than displeasure seems a foreign concept. Because of that, there’s not a lot of work _to_ be done. Other than occasionally seeing to the phone, organizing filing and doing accounts, and Jaha does a lot of that himself through the day.  

 

She hasn’t tried to enter into another homework battle with Charlotte either, not since that first failed endeavor. She’ll leave that to Bellamy, Arcadia’s oldest resident - the guy who who once boasted he could beat Clarke at beer pong - who also seems to have the ability to walk on water if the kid’s hero worship is anything to go by. She actually actually seems to _listen_ to him, which might have made Clarke pout - second best is not her favorite position in life - if she wasn’t so relieved to be able to wash her hands of the whole thing.  

 

She likes Charlotte, though. When she’s not running after her with a maths textbook that weighs more than Bellamy Blake’s ego, that is. Clarke’s been teaching her art and she’s actually rather good. A little nervous and lacking in confidence, but there’s talent there, and an eagerness that Clarke admires. 

 

All in all, it’s an enjoyable use of her time. 

 

She may or may be using these sessions to wheedle information about the rest of Arcadia’s residents out of Charlotte. 

 

 _‘So . . . that girl,_ _A_ _lexandria_ _?’_  

 

 _‘You mean Lexa?’_  

 

 _L_ _exa. Alexandria. She hasn_ _’t run into any Lexa’s yet so . . ._ _‘Uh sure. She been here long?’ Lexa._ Lexa _. It_ _’s sharper than Alexandria, but at the same time more intimate. She likes it._  

 

 _Shrug._ _‘Not really. She’s pretty new. Can you show me how to draw a nose?’_  

 

OK, so some of those questions might have a recurring theme. 

 

Jaha has suggested she do a weekly art class with the rest of the teens which . . . isn’t actually the worst idea he’s ever had. 

 

Anyway, that brings her to now, lounging on a couch beside Raven and Octavia, whilst Bellamy, Jasper and Monty play a game of cards on the floor. Or try to play. They’re all too busy talking for much progress to be made. She _thinks_ Monty might be winning, but only because Bellamy and Jasper seem to be a little more pouty than usual. 

 

In the past week, she seems to have somehow fallen into their group, still a little on the periphery but accepted as a part nonetheless. Whilst Alexandria or, rather, Lexa was right about that ‘screening process’ she would have to go through, she seems to have mostly passed. Even Octavia, the most reticent of the bunch, appears to be coming around.  

 

It could be all the time she’s been spending with them, you know, _not_ doing work. But she finds it far more likely that it has something to do with that moment, on her third day, when she pushed a startled Murphy into the pool - payback and all.  

 

That seemed to win over everyone’s approval. Except Murphy’s, of course.  

 

Which Clarke can live with.  

 

“So what’s Alexandria’s story?” Clarke asks, playing at smooth as she reaches forward to swipe some popcorn out of the bowl in Jasper’s lap. He yelps in protest. 

 

She’s so smooth. 

 

Simple, innocent question. Something anyone would ask. She’s volunteering here, Alexandria lives here, their paths occasionally cross, curiosity is expected.  

 

It might have worked to, if this wasn’t the third time she’d asked Raven about her. 

 

And the girl seems the type to draw connections where there are none.  

 

“Lexa, huh?” Judging by Raven’s slight smirk, her mask of indifference has a few cracks. She continues after a considering moment - one in which watches the blush rise in Clarke’s cheeks with no small level of delight - and shrugs. “Yeah, she's a bit of a headcase. You should see her underwear draw - color coded and everything.” 

 

OK, so that’s a little odd, admittedly. But then again, Clarke’s biased - she has a hard enough time returning her underwear to their drawer after a wash, so ensuring that they’re also _color coded_ is beyond her. Anyone who can must be in some small part alien. 

 

“What were you doing in her underwear draw?” Bellamy asks, a sly grin dawning on his face. 

 

Raven holds up a hand. “Not the point.”  

 

“Ok, that's . . .” Clarke frowns. “Odd.” She’s not sure if she’s referring to Alexandria’s  - uh, Lexa’s - extreme organizational skills or Raven’s foray into her underwear for unknown reasons. The last she prefers not to think about.  

 

Octavia snorts. “Yeah, well, headcase isn’t the word I’d use for her. She's a bitch.” 

 

Clarke’s skin flushes with heat, uncomfortably so, and her chest turns tight. “Well, I mean, she's a little abrupt but . . .” She’s not sure how to finish that, to defend Lexa, if she even should. In truth, she knows nothing about the girl other than that she has a thesaurus for a brain and a handy skill in keeping track of the house’s hidden stash of oreos. For all she knows, she actually _is_ a bitch. After all, they would know, wouldn’t they? They live with her, have known her longer. And she has been extremely short, even approaching rudeness, the last couple of times they’ve crossed paths. 

 

Still, her chest burns. The title rests uneasily on Lexa’s shoulders.  

 

Octavia isn’t the type to listen to any defenses Clarke could scramble up, though.“She's a _bitch,_ _”_ the younger girl insists. “Have you seen the way she looks at us? I mean, we're all homeless trash here, well except Clarke. Top trash, yeah, like the kind rich people throw out even though it's actually still pretty good, but still trash.” 

 

Raven’s eyes narrow. “Speak for yourself, Baby Blake. I'm homeless gold.” 

  

Octavia waves her away. “ _Point,_ is that she looks down at us like she's not trash - doesn't even give off so much as the _smell_ of trash.” 

 

Monty looks as uncomfortable as Clarke feels. “Maybe she's just awkward?” He suggests. 

 

Octavia rolls her eyes but Raven smirks. “Oh, no doubt about that. You know she drew up a room contract the day she moved in? Had me sign it and everything.” 

 

“Huh.” Octavia seems curious now, if not still a little pissed. “What'd it say?” 

 

The older girl scowls, though. “Too much. I think there was even something on there about 'proper conservation of electricity' or something. I don't know. I try not to follow any of it.  

 

Monty frowns, and Clarke shares his confusion. “But you signed it.” 

 

 _“Yeah_ , after she gave me a two hour lecture on roommate agreements and 'proper cohabitation'. I had to shut her up somehow.” 

 

Octavia makes a face. “God I'm glad you got stuck with her and not me.” 

 

“Well you would have been if you weren't rooming with Bellamy. Thanks for that by the way.” 

 

Octavia grin is all teeth and on the floor Bellamy shrugs, studying his cards with a distracted frown. “Charlotte seems to like her.” 

 

“She also likes you. So clearly her judgement sucks.”  

 

He drops his cards to glare at his sister who goes on to exchange a highfive with a snickering Raven.  

 

Clarke shifts uncomfortably. This animosity surrounding Lexa is unexpected, to say the least, and not at all what she had in mind when she brought her up. She just . . . wanted to know a little more about her. Honestly, she’s surprised at the venom with which Octavia speaks about her. Raven seems a little annoyed, but there’s also some flicker of fondness when she describes her roommate’s antics. The rest of the group seems as nonplussed as Clarke. “What's she here for, anyway?” 

 

 _Clarke, why are you still talking?_  

 

 _Desist, desist!_  

 

 _“_ Took a wrong turn on the way to a nunnery?” 

 

“I thought she was Jewish?” 

 

“Maybe she’s Canadian?”  

 

“With what accent?” 

 

“Maybe she got rid of it. Maybe she’s a spy.” 

 

“Ah huh! A Jewish Canadian spy escaped from a nunnery.” 

 

“Yeah right, what’s she spying on? Jasper and Monty’s weed collection?” 

 

“Shh!” 

 

Clarke wants to sink into the floor. Instead, she steals Jasper’s popcorn and hides behind it, shoveling handful after handful into her mouth. 

 

 _Mission failure. Absolute failure._   

 

Bellamy sighs, having long since grown tired the conversation. The topic seems to bore him at best, irritate him at worst. Though she hasn’t missed that he’s used the distraction to take a peek at Monty and Jasper’s cards. His findings don’t seem to have improved his mood. “We don't know why she’s here,” he talks directly to Clarke, ignoring the debate going on around them. “Maybe she's trying her hand at rebellion, ran away from Mummy and Daddy. Probably be back there in a month, two tops, tail between her legs because she couldn't hack it.” There’s no venom in his voice, and although his tone is exasperated, she can detect the honesty.  

 

His sister snorts. “Probably.” 

 

“Whatever, who cares,” Raven says, looking away with a shrug. Clarke frowns, having felt the tensing of her frame, their shoulders pressed against each other. She doesn’t have time to ask about it, however, before the mechanic has turned on her, expression smoothing into something teasing - and not a little bit challenging. “Why don't you just ask her, Clarke?” 

 

“I'd rather not.” Of that much she’s sure. She may not know much about her, but she feels confident that Lexa isn’t the type to _willingly_ share such information about herself. And especially not with Clarke who, she’s certain now, has become someone she’d very much like to avoid - for whatever reason.  

 

She should probably respect that, actually. If their roles were reversed, she wouldn’t want anyone prying into her private life, no matter how curious and well-intentioned they were. 

 

She bites her lip against the sinking twist in her stomach. 

 

“Why?” Raven doesn’t notice the shift. Teasing turns to smug, a grin stretching across her face her face. “Are you scared of her?” 

 

“What? No. That's ridiculous.” 

 

Alexandria can be somewhat . . . intimidating, it’s true - especially that stare thing she has going on with the raised chin and the eyes that look like they could grind her into dust and - but Clarke’s not _scared_ of her. The girl’s tiny, come on! 

 

Octavia, though, seems delighted with this new theory, pointing at Clarke as though her denial was in fact a confession of guilt. “You are! You're scared of her.” 

 

Bellamy chuckles. “Afraid she'll attack you with a dictionary, princess?” 

 

Well, actually . . .  

 

Now that you mention it. 

 

She tries not to pout. She really does. The twitch in Raven’s smirk says that she probably failed. _Damn._ “Hey, those things are heavy.” 

 

Octavia isn’t convinced. “Come on,I bet even  _Monty_ could take her.” 

 

“I don't know, I think I'm with Clarke on this one. She seems kinda scary.” 

 

Monty is so precious. How lucky she is to have Monty in her life. She should make him a cake. OK, _buy_ him a cake - food poisoning does not fast friends make. 

 

“Are you kidding me?!” Octavia cries. “Ten bucks she doesn't know a right cross from an upper cut.” 

 

Clarke’s pout becomes a frown. “Uh, neither do I.” 

 

“I like her,” Jasper pipes up. “She’s a good cook.” 

 

Raven snorts. “The way to a man’s heart, people.” 

 

He blushes but doesn’t deny the words. Something sticky and hot takes up residence in Clarke’s chest and she looks away from him. 

 

“Are you kidding me?” Octavia cuts in. “The girl never met a vegetable she didn’t like.” 

 

“Arugula.”  

 

The group flinches in unison, caught, heads whipping around to look at the girl standing in the doorway. _Well, shit._    

 

It’s the weekend, so for the first time since they’ve met, she’s out of her standard uniform, which might just be about the only silver lining to the situation - coherent thoughts are somewhat hard to come by around that outfit and this would most certainly be a time for thoughts. Unfortunately, her ankle length skirt and long sleeved turtle neck don’t prove any less distracting.  

 

 _Like what the fuck. What_ _’s up with that?_  

 

Lexa’s voice snaps her out of her staring. “You are more than welcome to cook in my stead, Octavia, if you prefer.”   

 

 _Oh shit._  

 

 _Shit._  

 

 _All the shit._  

 

Just how long has Lexa been standing there? How much did she hear? 

 

 _No spying nuns, please, no spying nuns . . ._  

 

She looks to the others for help, hoping for a hint, but they are largely unhelpful. Jasper and Monty are avoiding everyone’s gazes, looking both guilty and scared, Octavia is scowling and Bellamy is shaking his head. Raven is the only one who doesn’t look bothered by the interruption, smiling at Lexa and giving a somewhat lazy wave in greeting.  

 

It takes a moment for Clarke to notice the shopping bags in Lexa’s hands - all _five_ of them, how even? - and she’s flinching into action before her mind can even catch up. Shooting up, she nearly stumbles over herself in her haste and just barely avoids avoids falling on top of Monty. “Here, let me help you with those.” Anything to distract from this awkward situation. _Here, let me help you with your shopping, and, please, do ignore the fact that we_ _’ve all been talking about you behind your back._  

 

 _Thankyou_ _ever so much._  

 

Lexa blinks at her, seemingly startled by the offer. Her cheeks darken with the faintest hint of a blush. “I’m quite fine.” 

 

“I’ll help anyway.” 

 

“No need, Clarke.” She hesitates. “Thankyou for your consideration but they are not at all heavy, and I am capable of managing on my own just fine.” 

 

Clarke’s already reaching for two of the bags though. Lexa frowns but relinquishes without further protest. She sags under the new weight, eyes widening. “Not at all heavy, huh?” 

 

Lexa blushes and looks down. “I found no great trial with them.” 

 

Clarke slaps a hand to her own chest, mouth gaping in mock offense. “Are you saying I’m weak?” 

 

She doesn’t expect the other girl’s eyes to widen, for her posture to stiffen as if struck by a Petrificus Totalus - which was likely not the case because, you know, _muggles_. “No, I, that was not at all my intention, Clarke, and I apologize if my erroneous words led you to believe that I thought any less than well of you-” 

 

The smirk is immediate. Lexa babble is kind of cute. “Relax, I’m just playing with you.” 

 

She frowns, eyes narrowing. “A trick?” 

 

“I guess you could call it that.” 

 

Lexa raises her chin, the babbling girl from earlier disappearing beneath the mask of, well, a queen to be honest, or something equally as regal and impassive - _not a spy, Jasper,_ _more_ _like a royal undercover_. “I see, then perhaps I spoke to soon.”  

 

“Huh?” Her thoughts are still circling around the sudden shift in emotions, trying to pinpoint if she’s actually made an unfortunate misstep - likely, since this is her - and pissed Lexa off.  

 

Lexa turns away and continues on towards the kitchen. “About thinking well of you.” 

 

There’s a twitch at the corner of her mouth, the barest hints of amusement, and Clarke exhales, moving after her. _So, not pissed then_. _Score one for Clarke_.  

 

She pulls out her most gloating expression, tries to keep the relief from her voice. “No take backs, Lexa. You’re stuck with thinking well of me for the rest of your life.” 

 

Using the nickname was risky seeing as she _did_ introduce herself as Alexandria but everyone else seems to use it and, let’s be real, Alexandria is so _long. A_ nd Clarke is a firm follower of the philosophy that life is short _._ She’s just being practical.  

 

Lexa huffs. “I am unfamiliar with these rules.” Brow furrowing, she avoids Clarke’s triumphant presence beside her as they make their way out of the lounge room, though not quick enough to escape Raven’s scoff. 

 

“Looks like you’re not the only one who likes Lexa’s ‘cooking’, Jaz.” 

 

She shoots a scowl back at her, ignoring Jasper’s pout and the slight pink rising in her own cheeks. Raven retaliates with an expression of pure innocence that only Jaha would ever fall for but, seeing as Lexa shows no sign of noticing the exchange, Clarke lets it slide. For now. They’ll be having words later. Lots of words. Some of them colorful and not all of them polite.   

 

They reach the kitchen in relative silence and Clarke sighs in relief as she dumps her bags onto the counter - _not heavy, my ass_. _Arnold Schwarzenegger would have had trouble._ Lexa takes her time, setting her own down with more care and precision than is strictly necessary - they’re not concealing any bombs, after all! - and checks the contents to ensure that none have spilled out during the trip from the car. She does the same with Clarke’s - _OK, minor offense_ \- before at last beginning to empty them out, a process which is equally slow and methodical.  

 

 _Right, should probably get to helping with that. Don_ _’t want to seem rude._   

 

Speaking of rudeness . . . 

 

She should bring it up. The whole ‘hey, we were kind of just talking shit about you behind your back and you totes just walked in on us and it was really mean and awkward and shit and I swear I agree with none of it, want a chocolate?’. It’s not like Lexa caught them having a tea party. _That_ would be a lot easier to ignore.  

 

She should definitely apologize. 

 

Except . . . 

  

They’ve been talking, having an actual conversation, and Lexa’s only tried to escape her _twice -_ and, let’s be real, the attempts were pretty half-assessed compared to her usual _._ This is a record. Clarke might actually get more than three minutes of her company if she plays her cards right.  

 

She doesn’t want to ruin it. 

 

 _OK, so I_ _’m a little selfish. But I’m also a teenager so it’s to be expected! And look, I’m helping her put the shopping away. That’s gotta counteract the selfishness at least a little bit._  

 

She frowns. 

 

“Hey, so where’s Kane? Shouldn’t he be helping you with this stuff?” Clarke inquires, pausing to wrinkle her nose at the small container of tofu she lifts out of one bag.  

 

Lexa still isn’t looking at her, gaze focused on the task at hand, and Clarke can’t help but wonder if that’s just a convenient excuse and if so, _why_ she won’t look at her. She can’t be any more hideous than the bag of spinach Lexa’s currently depositing in the fridge. _I actually did my hair today! I_ _’m sure of it this time. Washed and everything. I even curled._  

 

 _Maybe she_ _’s not looking at you because you and your not-friends were just talking shit about her behind her back_. 

 

Shit. 

 

OK, so maybe she should apologize. Just get it over with. Rip off the bandage- 

 

“We stumbled upon Mr Murphy when we arrived,” Lexa says, wiping that train of thought. “He was drawing male genitalia on the windscreen of the next door neighbor’s car.” Her lips turn down in the slightest of grimace’s and Clarke does her best not to smile, imagining Kane’s reaction. “I offered to bring in the shopping whilst Mr Kane dealt with the situation.”  

 

She wonders who got the rawer end of that deal - Kane or Lexa. Probably Kane. Nothing quite beats having to have a serious conversation about dicks on windshields, and getting Murphy to see the error seems a pretty hopeless task. You’d probably have more success convincing a dog not to sniff other dog’s buts.    

 

“What’s Murphy’s deal anyway?” 

 

Lexa still refuses to look at her. “impulsive, low self-esteem, paranoia, inability to express non-hostile emotions, coupled with learned aggressive behavior.” 

 

Clarke gapes.  

 

Lexa shrugs. “It’s possible he also just enjoys being an asshole.” Her tongue fumbles over the word, brow squinting as she sounds it out.  

 

Clarke wonders if she’s the first person here to witness Lexa saying anything so . . . crude. Well, crude by Lexa standards.   

 

Clarke smirks. It’s not like Lexa will see it anyway. 

 

“I take it I’m not the only one who got thrown in the pool.” 

 

Lexa glowers at the beef chuck in her hand. “It’s a tradition of his.” Something in her expression approaches what on Clarke might be called a pout but on Lexa is barely sullen. “The chlorine clung to my uniform for weeks.” 

 

Her mind goes blank, imagining Lexa stepping out of the pool in her uniform. The uniform which happens to include a white dress shirt, one which Clarke is sure would in no way survive getting wet without becoming at least fifty percent see through.  

 

Lexa stepping out of a pool in a see through shirt, maybe or maybe not wearing a bra. 

 

She wonders if anyone thought to record it. 

 

 _You_ _’re going to hell, Clarke. No doubt about it, you’re going to hell._  

 

An eternity spent with Murphy for company. Fuck. 

 

 _Righteo, Clarke, time to get saintly. Nothing but pure thoughts from here on out._  

 

Fate seems to be on her side for just then her hand lands on something that nearly makes her gag.  “What the hell is this?” She holds the package of blue-green _powder?_ up to Lexa in question, wondering if she shouldn’t just throw it in the bin right now. Save them all. 

 

Lexa spares it only a cursory glance. “Spirulina.” 

 

She frowns. “And people . . . _eat_ it?” How the fuck? 

 

Unmoved, Lexa takes it from her slack hands and goes to deposit it in the cupboard. Clarke follows her carefully, taking note of where it’s kept so she can go back and throw it out later. It’s her job to help the people living here, after all. 

  

Her gaze settles on Clarke for the first time. “It is a rich source of vitamin B12, and it helps prevent cancer, lowers blood pressure and cholesterol ” 

 

She seems almost affronted by Clarke’s lack of understanding in regards to its importance. But come on! It’s not like she or her mum can cook worth a damn. They’ve been living on nothing but take out and microwave dinners - other than that one incident when Abby blew the oven up trying to make lasagna - since before the funeral. If she starts worrying about nutrition now, she’ll never be able to eat again. 

 

Of course, she won’t be admitting any of this to Lexa. There’s a matter of pride involved, not to mention doubt that the other girl will actually accept this as a reasonable excuse. But mostly she doesn’t want to get into the nitty gritty of _why_ she and her mum only have each other’s cooking to rely on. 

 

That’s far too deep a conversation to have over spinach’s demented cousin. “It’s alien vomit.” 

 

Lexa frowns. “I confess I find everyone’s lack of interest in proper nutrition here somewhat deplorable.” 

 

Clarke’s eyes widen slightly as Lexa then launches into a five minute spiel about _why_ exactly they should form some interest and, OK, she can see this very easily driving Octavia nuts. Maybe her antagonism isn’t such a mystery, after all, if this is a regular thing. 

 

Her mind has gone somewhat numb from listening to it herself.  

 

At least, She’s looking at her now, though.  

 

 _What I wouldn_ _’t give for a cheeseburger right about now._  

 

 _And a chocolate milkshake!_  

 

 _Oh! And fries, can_ _’t go without fries. Need something to dip into that_ _milkshakey_ _goodness._  

 

These probably aren’t the thoughts Lexa intended to inspire in her when she started her rant. And she seems to have such high hopes for Clarke, too. Oh well, she’ll try to feel guilty about it later over french fries. 

 

Clarke’s mouth twitches. “You and Jaha must get along great.” 

 

Lexa shrugs. “He understands the need for a variety of nutrition in one’s life, which I respect. Though I do find his team building exercises somewhat regrettable.” 

 

 _I_ _’ll bet._  

  

A grin itches its way up Clarke’s face. “He made you do the trust falls, didn’t he?” 

 

She frowns. “I opted not to participate after he saw fit to pair me with Miss Blake. I did not think it would bode well for my health.” 

 

That was probably wise. Clarke does her best to hold back a grimace. Octavia has an elephant sized Lexa grudge that isn’t exactly subtle. Joffrey Barathean could have hidden it better. What _had_ Jaha been thinking? 

 

She shakes her head. “So have you got anything in here that’s actually people food?” 

 

Lexa sighs, and Clarke’s never heard such disapproving exasperation contained within a single exhale, but she relents, pulling out a tub of ice cream. _Salted Caramel_ ice-cream. “I imagine this is more to your tastes.” 

 

“Yay! Dinner.” 

 

Another sigh and Lexa goes to put the empty bags away in the bottom cupboard for later use. When she turns away, though, there is a brief twitch in the muscles of her face. A smile, maybe.  

 

Warmth sputters in Clarke’s chest, branching out and leaving her slightly tingly all over. She looks away, cheeks stretching with the force of her own grin.  

 

“So, what’s arugula?” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Lexa - I feel for her, I'm a health nut too ;) 
> 
> Anyway I hope it wasn't too bad?
> 
> Twitter: @BonnieLextra & @CissyDudie  
> Tumblr: welcometocaritas  
> youtube: 88BonnieBlue88  
> instagram: cissyalice

**Author's Note:**

> So, what did you think? Any good? Bad? Want more?  
> Let me know. Or don't. Whatever's good. Just go with what comes naturally.  
> Also, if you feel like some stalking come find me!  
> Twitter: @BonnieLextra & @CissyDudie  
> Tumblr: welcometocaritas  
> youtube: 88BonnieBlue88  
> instagram: cissyalice


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